


The Final Straw

by Cantatrice18



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Diplomacy, Gen, Honor, Missing Scene, Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:54:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24608767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantatrice18/pseuds/Cantatrice18
Summary: The Jarl of Whiterun finally chooses a side in the Civil War. His choice hinges on a single insult directed, not at him, but at his Housecarl, the dark elf Irileth.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	The Final Straw

Balgruuf could see the wariness in the Stormcloak emissary’s features. The man was eyeing Irileth the way one might view a pickpocket in the stocks. Balgruuf was reminded yet again of why he disliked the Stormcloaks. Their obsession with the superiority of the Nord race led them far too easily down the path of hatred. 

“Then I may tell my Lord Ulfric that you will consider his proposition?” the emissary asked.

Balgruuf sighed. “Tell him what you’d like. But I will not have Whiterun become the site of some desperate battle between warring factions. My city is my own, and my people answer to my laws.”

The emissary bowed, his eyes still on Irileth. The housecarl shifted weight slightly, her hand straying to her weapon. Balgruuf gave her a quelling look before nodding dismissal to the emissary. The man bowed in return, hand over his heart.

It was as the Jarl made to leave that it happened. Irileth had stepped forward, no doubt to show the emissary out as was her habit. Balgruuf heard the man hiss something, something which made the Jarl stop dead with rage filling his heart. He turned to the departing emissary, eyes alight with anger. “What did you say to her?” he demanded.

The emissary looked back, no ounce of shame in his eyes. “My Lord?”

“I asked what you said to my Housecarl,” Balgruuf repeated. “I would like the words spoken aloud for my court to hear.”

“My Lord—” the emissary demurred, but Balgruuf was having none of it. Ice was flooding his veins as he glared openly at the man.

“I believe the words I heard you say were ‘Grey-skinned pig’. Was my hearing wrong?”

The emissary’s silence spoke volumes. Balgruff strode to the edge of the dais and glowered at the man. “I’ve had it with your kind. Skyrim is not only for the Nords, and those who say so are little more than blind, selfish bigots. You tell Ulfric that the next Stormcloak to enter my city will have his head mounted on the Eastern wall.”

The emissary, who had stumbled back, turned and left without so much as a nod. Balgruuf growled in disgust and stalked off the dais, headed for his chambers. He needed something to cool his head if he was to do anything else that day. 

He was wiping his face on a damp towel when he heard a voice behind him.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

Glancing back, he saw Irileth standing in the doorway. As usual, she was silent when she moved. “It needed to be done,” Balgruuf grunted. “Damn Stormcloak prejudice.”

“You’ve taken a side now,” Irileth said quietly. “Your people are at risk, and for what? For me?”

“For all elves,” he lied, but he could tell she saw through him. “For you, then, yes,” he admitted. “I can’t bear to hear you spoken of that way.”

“I’m a grown woman, my Lord,” Irileth reminded him. “I’ve fielded thousands of insults in my time, from Nords and Imperials alike. Even here in Whiterun, there are those who despise me for my race.”

“Fools,” Balgruuf growled. “May they rot in my dungeons.”

“You can’t arrest everyone,” Irileth told him gently. “The hatred would only spread if you tried.”

“Then what do you expect me to do?” he asked exasperatedly.

“I expect you to rule as you have always done: wisely, fairly, and with a cool head.”

Balgruuf sighed. “I’m—sorry. I let my anger get the better of me.” His eyes narrowed. “But I stand by what I said. Stormcloaks and their bigotry are not welcome in this city. I suppose I’d best write to General Tullius, to let him know of my decision.”

Irileth bowed her head. “As you will, my Lord.”

As he walked past her on his way back to the dais, he could have sworn he saw the corner of her chiseled mouth curve into a smile. Perhaps she was remembering the days when they’d enter battle side by side, each one caught up in the rush of war. It had been a long time since he’d taken a real stand on anything, always finding some unhappy medium. Now he had finally chosen a side, and their preparations could begin in earnest. Like it or not, they were headed back to war. But this time, he would fight for a cause, and a woman, he truly believed in.


End file.
